Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

14

When Beomgyu stirs again, the faintest shift of weight against the mattress, a low, muffled sound like breath breaking in half.

Taehyun jerks upright from where he'd been slumped at the edge of the bed, heart slamming so hard it feels like it cracks his ribs.

"Beomgyu?" His voice is too sharp, cracking on the second syllable. He swallows it down and leans closer, fingers brushing the side of Beomgyu's face gently, like he's afraid too much pressure will shatter him.

Dark lashes flutter against pale skin, slow and heavy, until finally those familiar brown eyes blink open—unfocused at first, then narrowing in vague confusion.

"...Hyun?" The word croaks out, raw and sandpaper-thin.

Relief punches through Taehyun so violently his eyes sting. He exhales hard, forehead dropping briefly against the mattress like a silent thank-you before he lifts his head again.

"You scared the shit out of me," he says, voice shaking just enough to betray him. He doesn't give Beomgyu a chance to answer before his hands start moving—checking for fever against his forehead, tugging the hoodie down to feel for clamminess, making sure his pulse hasn't gone off the rails.

Beomgyu flinches weakly. "You're acting like I coded on the table."

"You almost did," Taehyun snaps before he can stop himself, then presses his lips tight, inhaling through his nose to keep his tone steady.

Beomgyu just blinks at him, slow and exhausted.

"You passed out," Taehyun says finally, softer now, but the tremor in his voice hasn't gone. "What happened? Don't tell me it was nothing."

Beomgyu exhales through his nose, staring up at the ceiling. His voice is flat, but under it is a crack Taehyun can hear if he listens hard enough.

"I just... felt suffocated. That's all."

"That's not all," Taehyun presses, jaw tight. "Was this—" His throat works around the words. "Was this because of me? Because I kept pushing? The band, the contest—Gyu, if I—"

"It's not that." Beomgyu cuts him off, still not looking at him. His voice is calm, almost too calm, the kind of tone people use when they're holding a door shut against a storm. "Not now, Hyun. Please."

The please guts him worse than any sharp answer could.

Taehyun stares at him for a long, helpless beat, fingers curling against his knees until his nails dig crescent moons into his skin. He hates this—the not knowing, the being useless, the ugly question clawing at the back of his skull.
What if next time is worse?
What if I can't stop it?

He forces air through his lungs and stands abruptly, because if he sits still one more second, he'll break in half.

"Fine," he mutters, pushing toward the mini-fridge with stiff movements. "Not now. But you're eating something."

"I'm not—"

"Shut up." Taehyun yanks out a pre-packed kimbap roll and slams it onto the desk, the crack of plastic loud in the quiet. "You're pale as a ghost and you probably haven't eaten since breakfast. So unless you want me to spoon-feed you like an infant, you're eating."

Beomgyu huffs a laugh that sounds more like surrender and slowly pushes himself upright, back against the headboard. His movements are sluggish, like each one costs more than it should.

Taehyun tears the wrapper open and presses the food into his hands, watching like a hawk until Beomgyu takes a bite. Only then does he allow himself to breathe again, sinking onto the chair with a tired exhale.